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nanowrimo · 1 year

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4 Tips for Autistic Writers

Autistic writers can face unique challenges when it comes to writing. NaNo Participant Auden Halligan has tips to handle some of those challenges!

So, you’ve just sat down at your desk, all ready to work on your next chapter, but you just can’t seem to start. Something is itching at your brain, and no matter how hard you think, you can’t figure it out. For autistic writers, that itch might be even harder to get around when compounded with autistic inertia, introspection issues, and sensory processing disorder — even if we were super excited to get started, sometimes the stumbling blocks are enough to keep us from going anywhere at all.

Here are four tips to identify your struggles and work around them rather than against them as an autistic writer!

1. Schedule your writing time appropriately

While keeping a schedule can help you stave off unwanted change in your routine, the need to switch to another task when the clock strikes the hour sometimes feels like a monumental task, one that eventually becomes detrimental to your creative pursuits.

If switching tasks is the biggest hurdle to your writing, setting a designated writing time with no other plans around it could do the trick. Oftentimes, just one hour of time to transition from doing dishes to sitting down at your computer to write is exactly what you need to get past that point and find your writing headspace.

2. Make sure your sensory environment is right

Sometimes getting into that writing headspace is harder than normal, but you can’t put your finger on a reason. Chances are, you’re not quite ready until you have your sensory needs met and you can fully focus on your story.

Personally, I like to be on the couch with my water bottle, a playlist at just the right volume, and a comfortable jacket or hoodie on. For you, the ideal sensory space might involve a desk and a snack, a pet nearby, and a quiet room. For others, it could be outside or even at a library or coffee shop. Autistic people are all different and so are their sensory needs, so this one is super subjective — do what works best for you!

3. Take breaks often

Writing can be exhausting, and if you’re struggling to keep going, you might need to take a pause. If you’re like me and struggle with remembering to hydrate and eat once you’re deep in a task, use your break to get some water and a snack. If you’re having trouble staying focused, get up and move around and stim or go outside to give your brain a reset. If you feel like you’ve gotten some good progress done, however small, reward yourself — do something related to your special interest, dance with a pet, and celebrate your little (or big!) win!

The pomodoro method is a good way to keep yourself from working too long without a break, and if that doesn’t work for you, methods like the Eisenhower method with breaks interspersed and even simply inserting breaks into your scheduled writing time are just as valid.

4. Don’t be afraid to skip around

Another thing that often trips us autistic people up is needing to follow the story down its natural progression, from start to middle all the way to the finish. But inevitably, once we’ve gotten past the initial excitement of having the project started, we hit a stumbling block…and the project gets abandoned. I’ve left behind countless projects because I lost interest after hitting a scene I wasn’t excited for after just a few chapters.

To combat this, try writing out of order! Skip ahead to the scene directly after your stumbling block. You could also skip to the next scene your favorite character is in or even to the climax if it helps you move forward. If you’re having trouble putting your first words down, try writing a random scene in the middle of your story to get into the groove of writing your characters.

Alternately, if you can’t abide by the out of order method and really need to get your characters from Point A to Point B, try putting the scene you’re stuck on in brackets. For example:

[Character 1 and Character 2 fight over the decision to kick Character 3 off the team. 2 leaves in anger.]

It’s simple, efficient, and gets you out of that particular rut so you can keep moving toward that sweet, sweet conversation you’ve wanted to write since Day 1.

Now go forth and write, my friends!

Auden Halligan is a creator through and through. She’s been writing her entire life, but didn’t start participating in NaNoWriMo until 2017–right now she’s working on developing a TV series (or two!) and has several novels and short films in the drafting phase. Auden is currently a college student studying film production and hoping to minor in disability studies. You can find her on her very sparse Twitter at ink.and.spite. Photo by Lisa Fotios from Pexels

If you’re an autistic writer, check out the Pillow Fort in the NaNoWriMo forums! It’s a group for people who are neurodivergent, have disabilities, mental health concerns, or physical challenges that affect their lives.

#nanowrimo #camp nanowrimo #writing #autistic writers #writing advice #by nano guest #Auden Halligan #neurodivergent writers

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blurredcolour · 3 months

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I Wish You Love | Part Four

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Lewis Nixon x Housemaid!Female Reader

The end of the war feels so near and yet still so far off. Questions of the future and feelings of impatience plague you and Lewis equally.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Angst, Class Divide, Infidelity, Dishonesty, Lots of Kissing, Sexual Tension and Innuendos, Language, Smoking, Alcohol Consumption, Inevitable Historical and Military Inaccuracies, Mature/Explicit Themes - 18+ ONLY.

Author's Note: Surprise (as in no surprise whatsoever), this is not the final part of this series. There is one more part, because Bee does not know how to be brief. Reader's nationality is British and liberties have been taken in describing her background and family life for the sake of plot. No physical descriptions or y/n used. A good portion of this fic will be letter-based. This is a work of fiction based off the portrayal by the actors in the HBO series. I hold nothing but respect for the real life individuals referenced within.

Word Count: 4378

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Perhaps it was the English in you, but no matter how deliriously giddy you felt at the hopeful tone of Captain Nixon’s reply, you still found it necessary to make things absolutely clear. To add a strong dose of realism and seek confirmation of things in concrete terms. Settling in at the kitchen table once dinner had been cleaned up after and your father was properly ensconced in his favourite chair, listening to the wireless, you pulled out your writing supplies and took a direction approach.

Lewis, in all his Americanness, was having none of it. His response arrived promptly, two weeks later.

Four long months passed. Eight letters more letters crossed the Channel, four apiece. Spring blossomed before wilting into heat of summer. Germany surrendered. The Japanese held on until mid-August. You managed to assemble an untold number of shells without injury, though the skin of your face and hands as well as the halo of hair around your face became tinged as yellow as your fellow canary girls.

Word came from Austria that Johnny was on his way home, after six long years away. The universe works in mysterious ways, leading both of the men you cared for most in all the world to Austria to manage the occupation after Germany’s surrender. Lewis had kept you up to date on the dissolution of his marriage – the loss of his treasured dog Edgar, as well as his house, and custody of his son. You did your best to remain reassuring and supportive in your letters, reminding him of the untold potential of your future together.

Your immediate future, however, was somewhat more precarious. With so many men returning home from the war, employment was in high demand and the expectation was for women to return to the roles they had occupied before 1939 – where they ‘belonged.’ You were grateful you had lived well within your means, accumulating sufficient savings to see you through the end of your job at the factory in July and the seemingly endless search for new work since. With the effects of TNT still tainting your appearance, work in a shop was out of the question – such establishments immediately turning their noses up at you.

You had picked up a few clients as a charwoman, but unless you found many more, and quick, things were going to become very difficult indeed. Making your way home one midday at the end of August, you smoothed a hand over your hair, feeling positively overheated and unkempt after a particularly demanding morning scrubbing Mr. and Mrs. Danes house. As you rounded the corner of the lane you’d lived on most of your life, your feet stuttered to a stop at sight of the figure leaning against the front of the building of flats, sharing a cigarette with your father.

Neither of them had spotted you yet, and you swallowed roughly as your eyes drank in the dashing appearance of Captain Lewis Nixon in his dress uniform, sporting the short cut Eisenhower jacket that showed off his trim waist and long legs. You could not have felt more drab in your worn work dress, wishing desperately you could dash inside and freshen up but there was nothing for it now as he had lifted his eyes. You could see his smile from half a block away as he began striding towards you confidently, flicking his cigarette into the street as he rapidly closed the distance.

With small, hopefully furtive, movements you did your best to tidy your hair and the fall of your dress against your body.

“Darling.” Lewis smiled warmly, capturing your hands, ceasing your fretting as his long fingers enveloped yours. His eyes raked over your face with an expression that carried nothing but wonder.

If you had felt warm before, hearing the term of endearment he’d begun to use in his letters fall from his lips was akin to walking on the surface of the sun. “Lewis.” You breathed shakily, swallowing tightly at the brilliant grin he bestowed upon you in response as his hands squeezed yours tightly.

“Christ, you are a wonder to behold.” He murmured stepping closer and you raised an eyebrow skeptically as you very much felt otherwise. “No, I insist.” One broad hand slid to your waist, your heart racing as you found your own feet shuffling closer, your tongue darted out to wet your lips nervously. His eyes dropped to focus on your mouth a moment before his adam’s apple bobbed rapidly. “I’m going to kiss you now.” He warned you softly, gripping your waist with both hands now as he pulled you closer still.

The most you could manage in response was a rapid nod before his mouth was upon yours, lips gentle at first, moving slowly before they became insistent and eager. Fingers gripping at his biceps, curling into the fabric of his jacket, you tilted your head back in surrender, mouth pliant beneath his. He tasted of tobacco, smelled of his intoxicating aftershave and something that was uniquely Lewis. You could only hope there was something to recommend you in that moment and were heartened as he pulled you somehow even tighter to him, eliminating the last millimetres of space between your bodies.

Lewis’s lips pulled back from yours slowly, allowing you to suck in a shuddering breath as he pressed his face to your hair, an action he’d often described in his letters, realized at last. “Darling…” He whispered once more, tenderly, and you slid your arms around his shoulders to hold him fully.

“Welcome back, Lewis.” You sighed, finally allowing relief to wash over you.

“Thank you.” His lips brushed against your temple before he straightened slowly, fingers tracing along your jaw tenderly. “Your father tells me you should have some time to spend with me this afternoon?”

You tried not to frown at the reminder of all the free time you had on your hands, the economic implications thereof, and nodded gently. “I would like that very much, but whether you admit it or not I look a fright. Please let me change and freshen up?”

“You’re right, I’ll never admit it, because it’ll never be true.” He smirked and stole one last kiss before tucking your arm into his, leading you back towards your flat.

You noted your father had retreated inside to give you some privacy – as much privacy as one could be afforded in the middle of the street, of course, but you appreciated the thought, nonetheless. You stopped on the threshold and turned to Lewis quickly. “It’s no Lydiard House, I warn you.”

“Thank god.” He smiled reassuringly, hand settling on your lower back, a flock of butterflies fluttering erratically in your abdomen as you led him inside your humble home where you father was happily reading the newspaper.

“Will you two be all right if I take a moment to change?” You asked your father and he smirked.

“We’ve been alright for the past two hours, sweet pea, off you pop.” He shooed you towards the bedroom where your meagre wardrobe was stored and you glanced at Lewis, startled to learn he’d been waiting for you that long.

“Take your time.” He nodded, settling onto the worn sofa easily.

The world seemed quite off-kilter for a moment, Lewis occupying a space so separate from that in which you had known him, and yet how many hours had you spent thinking of him while sitting on that very sofa? Smiling slowly as everything seemed to slide into its new place of belonging, you stepped into the bedroom to pull one of your nicer dresses from the closet you shared with your father. Taking it to the bathroom, you freshened up and tamed your hair, feeling much better armed to face to world as you emerged, stowing your work clothes into the hamper before you rejoined them in the sitting room.

Lewis immediately rose to his feet on your return, a shy smile tugging at your lips fondly as your father looked up from his paper.

“I do hope the pair of you are going to spend your afternoon out in the sunshine and not in here with this old bore.” His eyes twinkled in amusement. “And don’t even bother telling me you’ll be home for dinner, I’m perfectly capable of eating at the pub.”

You closed your mouth quickly, your father killing that thought before you could voice it. Grabbing your handbag, you looked up as Lewis spoke.

“I was hoping to take both of you out to dinner tomorrow night, sir?” He offered hopefully.

“That would be very generous of you, thank you. Now, on your bike.” Your father snapped his paper back into place to hide his growing grin and Lewis laced your fingers together before leading you outside, sliding his garrison cap back onto his luscious hair.

“How did you manage to get over here? I thought they were shipping you back to New York?” You asked as you closed the door behind you.

“I have a few days and then the boat leaves from Marseille. I couldn’t leave before seeing you.”

You watched as he lifted your hands to press his lips to your knuckles gently. “Thank you.” You breathed softly and he looked to you tenderly.

“I’m the one with the debt of gratitude. Will you allow me some leeway to begin repaying you for all your kindness?” The way his warm brown eyes were boring into yours, framed by his long lashes, was threatening to make your knees knock together.

Taking a steadying breath, you shook your head firmly. “You say that like you have not somehow become the centre of my entire world, Lewis.” You countered weakly. “I don’t know where I’d be if you hadn’t forgiven me…”

He gently pressed a finger to your lips, shifting to whisper into your ear. “Then let me spoil you simply because I love you.”

His breath against your skin made you shiver before the meaning of his words registered and you pulled back to look at him, eyes wide. “Lewis…” Your gaze skittered across his face, drinking in the hopeful glint in his eyes, the way he held his breath awaiting your response, before you hesitantly leaned forward to brush your lips against his. “I love you too.” You barely had time to exhale before he cupped your cheek to kiss you deeply.

Pulled back to bestow a warm grin on you, he squeezed your hand softly. “Allow me to lead you to the car before I give you a reputation on your street.”

With a breathless laugh you nodded, following him over to the civilian vehicle that you had no idea from where he’d procured, sliding into the passenger’s seat on the lefthand side. “You’re a very mysterious man, Lewis Nixon.” You shook your head as he climbed in beside you, driving off easily.

“I hope not, or I intend not to be. I don’t like keeping secrets from you, darling. I much prefer being completely open and honest with you.”

You smiled fondly as your heart throbbed in your chest. “Where are we going, then?”

“Your father allowed me to check the pictures playing at your local cinema and it seems there is an afternoon showing of the Wizard of Oz – I thought you might enjoy that?” He glanced over at you, smiling when you nodded quickly. “Then some window-shopping and dinner?”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously at the second activity, but dinner certainly sounded lovely. “That sounds like a wonderful day.”

“Good.” He nodded, navigating his way through the narrow streets until he found the cinema and a parking spot.

The pair of you arrived just in time to purchase a few snacks and settle into the half-empty theatre. Mid-afternoon was not a very popular time on a weekday, after all.

“I haven’t been to see a film in years.” You whispered as he lifted the armrest to snake his arm around your waist and pull you close, making you bite your lip.

“Me neither.” He admitted, resting his fingers against your hip softly as the picture started.

You knew you shouldn’t let him hold you so close, particularly not in such a public place, and yet it was dark in theatre and in all honestly you probably could not have born any distance between you, needing him as near as possible after so long apart. After falling so deeply in love with him. It did, however, make it awfully difficult to focus on the film. Your eyes continued to flick between the screen and his profile, inhaling deeply, enjoying the press of him along your side despite the added warmth of his body heat.

Somehow you did manage to remember to pay attention to the scene where Dorothy’s home landed after the twister, gnawing your lip in anticipation as she made her way to the front door and inhaling in wonder as the colourful land of Oz lay on the other side. The transition held just as much magic as it had the only other time you’d seen the film, a grin unfurling on your face as she wandered through the quaint village, passed the pond filled with lotus leaves. As your eyes inevitably shifted to sneak a look at Lewis you jumped slightly as they met his own directly, already watching you intently with a fond smile on his face.

Wordlessly he leaned in to press a soft kiss to your lips before turning back to the screen with a very pleased expression on his face. Sharing your treats, you enjoyed the film together in companionable silence, not a hairsbreadth of space between you, until the lights came up.

“That was even better than the first time I saw it thank you, Lewis.”

“I’m very glad, you’re welcome.” He grinned, pressing a kiss to your temple before you shuffled out with the rest of the crowd.

The brilliant sunshine of midday had since been replaced by heavy clouds, rain threatening as Lewis took your hand and led you across the street to a rather upscale department store – one that you certainly had never shopped at before.

“Lewis, I didn’t bring my ration book…” You murmured nervously as he held the door open for you.

“Not to worry, we’re only window-shopping, not a shilling will be spent.” He winked, taking your arm once you were both inside and leading you around, getting your opinions on all sorts of things. Men’s clothing, women’s, toys, trinkets, before leading you over to the jewelry counters.

“Good lord…” You breathed at some of the more ostentatious engagement rings they had on display with massive diamonds.

Lewis smirked at you as he leaned against the case. “A bit much for your taste, darling?”

“Entirely too much.” You nodded firmly. “I don’t know how a woman could accomplish anything with a ring that size on her finger.”

“I suppose she wouldn’t be expected to, but that sort of life doesn’t really seem your speed does it.”

Looking to him slowly as this conversation took on a rather layered meaning, you shook your head. “No, I don’t think it would. Even if I did not need an income, I would most definitely need a purpose.”

“Noted.” He replied with a nod before moving towards a more modest selection. “Are these a little more to your liking then?”

Swallowing dryly you gave him a slow nod. “They are quite nice, yes.” You nodded, feeling suddenly rather nervous. Not in a bad way, but your heart most certainly could not remember how to beat properly despite you trying to remind yourself that it was only ‘window-shopping.’

Sensing your distress, Lewis led you over to inspect the necklaces, your tension easing without rows of engagement rings on display in front of you. After sampling a few perfumes, he smiled to you. “Ready for dinner?”

“Are you certain you didn’t need to make any sort of purchases?”

“That would be against the premise of window-shopping darling, was there anything you needed though?” He raised an eyebrow, and you shook your head, glancing back toward the store before turning to him.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You replied stubbornly and he squeezed your hand, the pair of your heading back outside as thunder rumbled long and low along the darkening street.

“I hope we can make it back to car.” He glanced at you quickly and you both immediately started hurrying your steps.

The skies opened up then and you quickly darted beneath the awning of a small shop that seemed to be closed for the day, yanking Lewis beneath its shelter as sheets of rain began to come down.

“Damn…” He laughed, shaking his head as you giggled softly in reply.

“Shouldn’t last long, doesn’t usually when summer storms pop up like this.” A brilliant flash of lightning cut through the gloom making you flinch and step closer to him, the resulting thunder startling you in turn.

“I’ve got you darling, nothing to worry about.” He slid his arm around your waist, pulling you into his chest comfortingly as the rain fell so hard it rebounded off the pavement, practically obscuring the world outside your tiny dry square of shelter.

Reaching out to caress his cheek gratefully, his lips met yours halfway, seemingly unable to resist one another after so many months of denial. Lewis’s hand splayed across your lower back, moulding you to him as his tongue swept into your mouth, drawing a reflexive whimper from your throat. Giving in to impulse, you allowed your fingers to slide into the dark locks of his hair beneath his cap as his tongue dragged along yours, making it awfully difficult to keep on your feet.

The sound of the rain and intermittent crashes of thunder faded away into the background, all your focus drawn onto the man in your arms and your stolen moment amidst the chaos around you. Time became irrelevant as all sensation narrowed to his excruciatingly thorough kiss and the way it raised your body temperature, your body itself raising onto your tip toes to crush against his torso wantonly. A hum of approval rumbled through his chest, which you felt more than heard courtesy of the early evening thunderstorm, a tremor running through you in silent reply.

Lewis’s lips wrenched back from yours, his chest heaving, his normally rich brown eyes darkened by something you’d never seen before, something wild, primal. It made your thighs clench slightly to see it, his nostrils flaring as he surely felt the motion given that you were very much still pressed against him. You stared at one another, unmoving, silent, yet in your hazy state you still managed to note that the tumult around you was easing up, the other side of the street becoming visible through the curtain of rain.

“Dinner.” He eventually exhaled, taking a reluctant step back to reintroduce a respectable distance.

“Mmm.” You replied nonsensically with a nod of affirmation as the rain petered out to no more than a mist, frantic drips falling from the awning in the aftermath of the squall.

Lewis eyed you intensely a moment, swallowing visibly before wrenching his gaze from your face and continuing back towards the car with your hand tucked into his elbow. By the time the pair of you arrived at a rather nice, but not too nice, restaurant you’d both managed to regain a sense of composure. Lewis navigated the menu and wine list expertly and you were happy to let him do so, rather afraid to look at the prices.

His choices were impeccable, some of the best you’d ever eaten, certainly since before the start of the war, and though you were growing tired at the end of the evening as he pulled up to the flat you shared with your father, you were also loath for it to end.

“Where are you staying?” Your eyes widened as you realized you’d forgotten to ask such a pivotal question.

“The Goddard Arms, it’s quite suitable – far superior to a fox hole at any rate. May I pick you up around the same time tomorrow?”

Running through your mental list of clients, you nodded, noting happily you would have some time to change before his arrival. “That would be lovely, thank you.”

“Perfect. I’d like to take you on a drive and a picnic, just so you can plan your wardrobe accordingly.” He winked teasingly. “I’ll walk you to your door.” He slid from the car as you laughed warmly, coming around to open your door and help you from the vehicle.

As he led you up the walk and into the building, you smiled to him softly. “Today was incredible, Lewis, thank you very much.”

“Glad you enjoyed it, I intend to outdo myself tomorrow.” He smirked and you smothered your laugh behind your hand, not wanting to disrupt the neighbours.

“Sleep well then, best to keep up your strength.” You teased before your eyes widened slightly at the unintended innuendo.

“Please, I beg you, don’t tempt me anymore than you already are, darling.” He muttered, voice taking on a dangerous tone as he leaned in to kiss you fiercely.

You clung to his shoulders, feeling quite at risk of being swept away by his intensity, breath shaking as he pulled back.

“Good night.” He rasped.

You nodded, speechless and fumbling with the door to the flat before eventually making it inside.

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Read Part Five

I Wish You Love Masterlist

Tag list: @ronsparky, @fuckoffthanos, @bcon24, @gretagerwigsmuse

#lewis nixon x reader #lewis nixon imagines #lewis nixon imagine #band of brothers x reader #band of brothers imagines #hbo war fic #band of brothers imagine #lewis nixon #band of brothers #easy company

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gremlins-hotel · 1 year

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Uniforms of the Cold War There were many pieces and variations of the uniforms for the emergent post-World War II powers. While they remained mostly styled after yesterday's uniforms, several changes came about to bring us the outerwear that most recognizes today. These renderings are not perfect, but they can hopefully provide a suitable image of the era.

[ sources ]

Capt Alfred F. Jones // U.S. Air Force After the Air Force was codified as an official military branch in 1947, we find Alfred sporting the 1949-1964 Air Force blue (shade 84*) Field/Service uniform. This version, rather than the McPeak Dress Jacket, is based upon the Eisenhower or 'Ike' Field Jacket (M1943 accompaniment) made famous by General Dwight D. Eisenhower. The Air Force did allow for the tan jacket typical of the time to also be worn - and for fellow Hetalians you will recognize the tan or olive drab Ike jacket as the typical choice for Alfred's Cold War dress - however, in 1949, the release of the Air Force Blue drove a push for a new wave of uniforms. Its accompanying garments should be as follows; shade blue 120 cotton poplin (pictured)/shade 126 cotton oxford undershirt; shade 84 service necktie**. The uniform can be worn with either the Service Dress Cap or the flight cap (pictured above), both required to be shade 84. As an officer, Alfred's flight cap bears a silver cord braid. Last but not least, the required dress shoes shall be black and socks shall be black. *The trousers should be the same shade as the jacket, but they were made darker for artistic reasons. **The necktie - while listed as shade 84 - often ended up darker than the jacket, likely due to material.

- - - - -

Kapitan Ivan Braginsky // Red Army (Artillery)* The uniforms of the immediate post-war Soviet Union, like the United States, closely followed those of the Great Patriotic War. Ivan wears a very short-lived uniform, perhaps misleadingly known as the 'Zhukov' officer dress, despite the fact that then-Minister of Defense Georgy Zhukov was a strong pillar against the naval-styled uniform. This style was produced from 1955-1957; from the death of Stalin until the end of Zhukov's tenure as Minister of Defense. It features the M55 Dress jacket in a stormy, steely blue-gray (listed officially as gray). This jacket may have been worn as a parade, dress, semi-dress, or even service jacket (sources vary) - pictured above is the 'Parade Walking-Out' version of the jacket. Paired with the M55 are the dark blue officer breeches of the time. These would have been upheld by suspenders and paired with no foot or leg wraps. Upon Ivan's uniform is featured red piping and black velvet hat banding denoting his service in the Armored and/or Artillery forces, in contrast to the raspberry of infantry. Ivan is far too large to fit inside a tank, so Artillery became his assignment. The Zhukov-style uniform is easily recognized by the gold cockade and leaves upon the visor of the officer's cap. Hidden by Ivan's scarf are notched lapels and black velvet panels. He wears a ceremonial belt worn in conjunction with the Parade Dress. *I apologize for this section being less detailed. Finding decent sources on Soviet-era uniforms in my region that aren't on apologist forums can be difficult as I do not have access to a more formal library or archive.

[ sources ]

#hetalia #historical hetalia #aph america #aph russia #hws america #hws russia #alfred f jones #ivan braginsky #alpha romeo tango #alfred f. jones // daring to fly #ivan braginsky // Не остаться в этой траве #i forgot to link all the forums i trolled for soviet uniform information because godDAMN i'm telling you #it took me two and a half hours to find what i even did to draw ivan as you see him #and he's so not perfect #but it's 2:40 am

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sweaterkittensahoy · 2 months

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There were two dudes at ECCC 2024 cosplaying as Dick Winters and either Bull or Speirs.

I'm sorry to the second cosplayer for not being sure. But I blue-screened seeing someone go by in the Eisenhower jacket with red hair and a WINTERS nametag and could barely string sentences together because I literally never thought I'd see that.

Great cosplays on both of them, FYI. And A+ banter when I said, "Dick, what are you doing here??? There's a war in Europe!"

So, if you were at ECCC in those costumes and a rando ghostbuster just seemed to say weird shit, that was me.

#band of brothers #dick winters #bull randleman #ronald speirs #cosplay #eccc #eccc 2024 #eccc2024

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cantsayidont · 8 months

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"So each year, hoping he will return, we set an extra place at dinner...for Superman!"

In 1984, the 400th issue of SUPERMAN presented an oversize issue with a series of vignettes about Superman's future, illustrated by a selection of different artists (including Frank Miller and Jim Steranko, among others) and interspersed with pinups and little essays by artists ranging from Will Eisner to Moebius.

The story itself, mostly written by Elliot S! Maggin, is unusual, since unlike most "Imaginary Stories," it's not interested with Superman's future (whom he marries, whether he has children, etc.), but rather with his eventual transformation into a mythic figure.

The most interesting of the vignettes is this one, drawn and colored by Klaus Janson. The narrative captions aren't always very legible, so I'll transcribe them after each page.

"So did the legend wax and wane and wax some more across the ages until, inevitably, the career of Kal-El, the waif from a lost world, passed from the realm of legend into myth… And in the dawning days of the Sixtieth Century--the memory of Superman has passed from reverence to ritual…"

"Meet Riley Benedix-- Even to 20th-Century eyes Riley's mode of dress would appear eccentric… Worry not--there is an explanation. The hat, of course, is the stovepipe of Abraham Lincoln, who lived soon enough before the great age of heroes to be included among them… The eyes wear the distinctive spectacles of Woodrow Wilson, who made the world safe for democracy… The shirt is that of Superman, greatest of all heroes, who fought for truth, justice, and the American way… Over Riley's back is an Eisenhower jacket, reminiscent of the hero of D-Day… On his feet are the highwater boots of Kuhan Pei-Jing, who slogged through the ricefields of Asian negotiating to head off a Third World War in the 1990's."

"Every year Riley and thousands of other history buffs fly hopelessly outdated spacecraft to Arcturus…to the convention of the 'League of Supermen'--for costume parades, sales of ancient memorabilia, parties, and a bit of unabashed fun… Riley's father never understood fun…"

"We join the Benedix family on a night of the year that is different from all other nights…"

"That is a good question, Superman…which you will answer to your own satisfaction soon enough…but for now you are only relatively sure of where you have been. You learned, again, that when the powers you wield are awesome, then the forces that array themselves against you are likewise--when the pulsing blob of chaotic energy nearly entered a star-system close to Earth's…and threatened, but its presence, to skew the orbits of inhabited worlds… Suddenly, not only was the blob of energy gone--but so was the last son of Krypton!"

"Alone, in pain, he found himself swimming through space like a drowning man looking for a life raft…directing himself more through will and instinct than through consciousness--to the blue-green world that has come to be his home. As, not a hundred yards from where the Man of Steel fell…"

"Soon, the stranger opens his eyes, looks around, and wonders…"

"So young Riley Benedix does continue the story of this festive day for his family…and he is the only one who knows that one of the story's main characters is here at the table with them all! It is a story of the days when America was young…and a child who could change the course of mighty rivers came to Earth--to exemplify all that American had and would come to stand for! Some of the story is accurate…some is clouded by the folds of myth and time--but like art and greatness, it is all true!"

"The young man walks the man from four thousand years ago into the sea-breeze of the night, and… For every Miracle Monday after that one, Riley's family set an extra place as everyone else did…but every year through Riley's old age, the food on Superman's dish mysteriously disappeared during dinner! Of course, everyone thought it was a trick--that Riley always teleported it away…but only Riley knew that sometimes legends live!"

Miracle Monday is a recurring holiday in Maggin's Superman stories, celebrated the third Monday of each May. It's explained in Maggin's 1981 prose novel of the same name, in which Superman beats the Devil (in the form of one C.W. Saturn) with some assistance from a time-traveling 29th century historian named Kristen Wells and an unexpected last-minute save from Lex Luthor (who was a very different character in that era and whom Maggin generally presented in a relatively sympathetic light).

(The cover of the novel tends to imply that it's a novelization of the Christopher Reeve SUPERMAN 2, which it's not, despite the glossy center section with photos from that movie.)

Maggin, who was a regular writer of the Superman comics in the '70s and '80s, later returned Kristen Wells in DC COMICS PRESENTS Annual #2 (1983) and #4 (1985), which make reference to the events of the novel.

In any event, the Benedix family's Miracle Monday celebration is very plainly modeled on a Passover seder, with an empty plate for Superman taking the place of the extra glass of wine poured for the prophet Elijah. It doesn't appear they've left the door open for Superman, but his appearance at the open door is obviously intended to evoke that tradition.

There is a lot of Jewish-coded content in the Superman stories of the Silver Age and Bronze Age (from 1958 to 1986) — a lot more than in the Golden Age, unless you really strain, and MUCH more than in the period following the John Byrne revamp begun in 1986–1987, which pointedly did away with most of that stuff — and this is a particularly clear example. In that respect, it's notable that the Miracle Monday seder is expressly an Earth custom; much of what you can most readily identify as Jewish-coded in these stories is associated with the Kryptonian diaspora.

Regarding the story's narrative coda, it may be worth pointing out that while this story has Superman initially thrown through time by a mysterious space phenomenon, the "pre-Crisis" Silver Age/Bronze Age Superman could fly at superluminal speeds, and was capable of both interstellar travel and time travel under his own power. There were some complicated (and irregularly applied) rules about traveling to time periods in which he already existed, but Superman was capable of simply traveling forward in time and then returning to his own time more or less whenever he felt like it, which is how he was able to perform this little parlor trick for Riley. That was one of the abilities that John Byrne removed in the wake of MAN OF STEEL, in the effort to reduce Superman's powers and try to tie them to a specific set of pseudo-scientific rules.

#comics #superman #elliot s maggin #klaus janson #miracle monday #pre crisis

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awstenlookbook · 7 months

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For their Property Tour show at The Gov in Adelaide Australia, Awsten wears a Dickies contrast stitch Eisenhower jacket (no longer available). He pairs it with one red & one grey Firm Grip utility glove ($12.97 in a 3 pack). He has removed the fingers from the gloves.

📸Instagram: nlovakovic

Boots | Tee shirt

#waterparks #awsten knight #intellectual property #property tour #the property tour #firm grip #dickies #2023 #october 2023 #the gov

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pattern-recognition · 2 months

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@ my military apparel aficionado followers, does anyone have any info relating to WWII era Eisenhower/Ike jackets in black or cotton, as opposed to the typical olive drab color in wool. I’ve known about the black uniforms specific to the 4221st Guard Company, comprised of Estonian SS soldiers, that was deployed as guards at Nuremberg, but a quick search on the US militaria forums suggests that a variety of guard/labor companies were given black uniforms

#I found a black Ike jacket at a store near me #too rich for my blood atm unless it’s on sale soon #but i’d like to know

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susoriginals · 3 months

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Vintage 1950s Yellow Maize Jacket The Sportcrafter by Rugby for All Good Sports Mens Small Size 36 Union Made in USA Eisenhower Only $38

#1950s jacket #vintage jacket #vintage 1950s jacket #vintage rugby jacket #1950s rugby jacket #made in USA vintage jacket #union label vintage jacket #size 36 union label vintage jacket #1950s version of the Eisenhower jacket #etsy #vintage menswear #mens vintage clothing #1950s menswear #1950s blue collar #1950s sportswear for men #vintage #susoriginals

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redeyedroid · 5 months

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Donald Trump has a thing. He has lots of things, being a creature made of personality defects, narcissism and high-tensile racism, and who looks like a semi-sentient block of cheese that has somehow gained a rudimentary understanding of fascism, but in this case I’m talking about his thing is to attack the US military of today by valourising two of its past leaders: Douglas MacArthur and George Patton.

"Remember the old days of General MacArthur and General Patton, and these great generals," Trump told CPAC in 2015. "General MacArthur is spinning in his grave when he sees what we do."

He’s also used them to attack his opponents: “[Hillary Clinton] tells you how to fight ISIS on her website… I don't think Gen. Douglas MacArthur would like that very much."

These are two examples among many of something as close to admiration a man like Trump can ever display and it’s easy to see why he picks these men to elevate. Trump is a man given over to the projection of an image, a man who, like many authoritarians, impersonates the man he says he is, not unlike those fraudsters you see in the news from time to time. Tricksters convicted of conning millions out of dumb rich people while pretending to be German nobility. Impression and publicity are the thing, so naturally, not being a well-read man, or one prone to anything but superficiality, Trump would gravitate to the most self-aggrandising, most flawed of America’s military leaders.

Some of Patton’s tough talking character was bluster. Delivered in a characteristically high-pitched voice, his bloodthirsty quotes were often intended to inspire in his men confidence in his leadership and in themselves. But sometimes it was not. In Sicily, he was fired when he slapped men suffering from PTSD, and then again soon after the end of the war in Europe, because he wanted to go to war with the USSR and his absence of political nous meant his superiors had little use for him in peacetime. He never rose to the highest rank. Eisenhower, the great coalition builder and politician, favoured Omar Bradley.

Like many of their ilk, image was key to both – Patton’s cavalry boots and trousers were topped with a ridiculous shiny, polished helmet; MacArthur habitually wore aviator glasses, pipe and leather jacket.

A man of gargantuan ego, MacArthur was obsessed with liberating the Philippines from the Japanese after being defeated there in the early part of the war. He threatened to run against Roosevelt for President in order to get his way and ensure he was given command of vast forces for the task, his famous 1942 declaration of “…I shall return” was followed up with “…I have returned” after landings on Leyte in October 1944 (Never a man who used ‘we’ where ‘I’ could fit, he earned the enmity of men under his command in the first Philippine campaign who nicknamed him Dugout Doug, noting in disgust his insistence in lauding himself in dispatches to the USA and the exclusion of their own sacrifices).

It’s not hard to see why Trump, a man who has a child’s understanding of strength and a perpetual, diseased need to take credit would be attracted to a man who took backhanders from the Philippine government and had a friendly press baron amplifying his voice at home.

(There’s also the less well-known pre-war part of MacArthur’s biography where he, a man in his fifties, took a sixteen-year-old Filipina as his mistress, which Trump, a rapist, would surely see as unproblematic if he ever learned of it).

To be clear, both Patton and MacArthur were highly competent, knowledgeable and precise, and responsible for extraordinary victories in Europe and Pacific, but both were massively flawed characters, and neither were in the top tier of American commanders. It’s emblematic of Trump’s character that he would gravitate to the egotistic, meddling MacArthur ahead of Chester Nimitz, architect of the Navy’s drive through the Central Pacific, which got underway in earnest on the 20th of November 1943 with landings on Betio and Makin Atolls, Tarawa.

The land campaigns of the Pacific all have their own unique, awful characteristics. There are the battles over the Kokoda Trail, fought in the mountain forests of New Guinea. The jungles and rain of the Solomons campaign. The heat of Peleliu, where bad Marine leadership threw men uselessly against Japanese fortifications dug into the rock caves in the centre of the island. The massive numbers of civilian dead of Saipan and Okinawa, often victims of murder-suicides – Japanese, taught to fear the American and to never be taken captive killed themselves and/or their families in terrible numbers. (There is colour film of people throwing themselves to their deaths from the cliffs of northern Saipan.) And the sulphuric rock of the volcanic Iwo Jima, the only battle where US casualties outnumbered Japanese.

On Tarawa, a stereotypical Pacific Island of sand and palm trees, there was a beautiful tropical lagoon.

Betio Atoll, lying 2,400 miles southwest of Hawai’i is a tiny island that today is part of Kiribati, but it was not quite small enough for war to pass it by, for it was the right shape and just big enough for the Japanese to build an airfield on it. And so, to protect their supply lines from interdiction during the campaign westward, the Americans decided it must be seized and assembled a fleet of 191 ships to transport and support a force of 35,000 troops to attack it.

GALVANIC, as the operation was designated, was unknown territory. Amphibious landings had been done at Guadalcanal and throughout the Solomons, for Operation TORCH in North Africa, and recently HUSKY, BAYTOWN and AVALANCHE in Sicily and Italy. But none of these had been against heavily fortified defences of the type the Japanese, well aware of their vulnerability, had built. Tarawa had a garrison of about 5,000 men, half of whom were Rikusentai – the Special Naval Landing Forces that were the Imperial Japanese Navy’s equivalent of Marines. The rest were construction crews and engineers, and they made a complex of bunkers, pillboxes and trenches, reinforced with concrete, timber and coral that proved enormously difficult to reduce.

While the Americans had studied and planned for the kind of opposed landings they would now attempt, there was no proof of concept and, worse, they were short of vital resources.

A year previously, the US Navy had contested control of the Pacific with two operational aircraft carriers. Now, in the autumn of 1943, its industry had built a fleet of Essex- and Independence-class carriers that came to dominate the rest of the war. One day, during the two-week voyage from New Zealand to Tarawa, a crewman on the USS Saratoga counted 13 different carriers among the fleet. But they were sorely lacking in landing craft.

The landings in Italy had already suffered from this shortage – both BAYTOWN and AVALANCHE had been allocated far fewer landing craft than they needed and now GALVANIC would. They were desperately short of the LVTs – amphibious tractors – which would carry the first wave of Marines onto the invasion beaches. They had cannibalised older vehicles that had been used on Guadalcanal and welded makeshift armour to others they acquired. But the following waves rode in Higgins boats – the classic, familiar-looking assault craft from movies like Saving Private Ryan. These craft would never reach shore.

The invasion coincided with Tarawa’s neap tide and while many of the people the Navy consulted about the depth of water in the lagoon opposite the invasion beaches were confident about the depth of water they would find, there was no consensus. One man, a New Zealander named Major F L G Holland warned that there would be less than 3 feet of water over the coral reef that bordered the lagoon. He was right. The tracked amtracs of the first wave could grind their way over the reef and into the lagoon, but the Higgins boats following hit it and the invasion stalled.

Men were disgorged into the water at the reef and had to wade through chest and neck-deep water to get to shore. Some transferred to amtracs that took them halfway before being told that it was too dangerous for the amtrac to go further, that the diminshing number of amtracs were too valuable to risk and that they would have to trek through the maelstrom of fire that the lagoon had become. Men struggled past the dismembered and mutilated bodies of their comrades, the burning disabled wrecks of craft that had made it into the lagoon, through water turned crimson with blood, alongside the floating corpses of thousands of tropical fish killed by the concussion of hundreds of explosions to reach a beach where the tempest of the lagoon was replaced by a world of sand, blood and slaughter.

On land, the marines found themselves against a sea wall made of timber and beneath this were able to regroup. Communications were difficult. The few senior officers on the scene found that many radios were lost, or so waterlogged as to be ineffective. The battle had little direction, devolving into small groups of marines led by lieutenants, NCOs and privates slowing creeping inland, clearing bunkers as they went. Sometimes they were forced back, sometimes they held on to the territory they took. Always they took grievous losses.

Things were no better on the Japanese side, for early on the first day, the garrison commander, Rear Admiral Shibasaki Keiji was killed.

Artillery fire is a terrible thing to be under, naval gunfire orders of magnitude worse. The standard 105mm M2 howitzer used by the US army fired a 40lb shell. The battleships USS Maryland and Colorado which bombarded Betio fired 16-inch shells that weighed 2,100lbs. A broadside from either sent more than seven and a half tons of high explosive at a target up to 14 miles away. Combined with fire from cruisers and destroyers the pre-invasion bombardment killed perhaps 40% of the island’s defenders, wrecked much of its defences, and - because wires could not be buried deeply enough in the sand of Betio - destroyed its telephone network. Shibasaki, frustrated at his inability to communicate with his men decided to move his command post and, out in the open, was killed along with his entire staff when a 5-inch shell from an American destroyer landed in the middle of them. Whatever was left of his body was never recovered.

In this, the Americans were lucky. Their position on the first day was precarious and Shibasaki’s death meant the Japanese defence became uncoordinated and prevented them from mounting a counterattack on the first night. They did sneak men onto the wreck of a freighter in the lagoon, from where they continued to rake it with fire. Strikes by aircraft on the freighter were inaccurate and often hit US troops. Friendly fire from both air and sea would be a problem throughout the battle for American forces.

The Marines, with few of the flamethrowers and bazookas they would have in later battles, reduced the island pillbox by pillbox, often having to silence them multiple times as Rikusentai reoccupied firing positions thought eliminated by means of hidden trenches. The long wooden pier leading out into the lagoon would be the source of constant fire throughout the battle.

It took 76 hours to take Tarawa. Slightly over three days of small unit fighting, men rushing firing positions and pouring grenades and bullets through openings. Frontal attacks against pillboxes, or flanking attacks that exposed men to fire from another position in overlapping network of defence. Tanks, immobilised by mine or Japanese fire would provide support, but mostly this was a battle fought by the infantry at short range with rifle, sub-machine gun and grenade. At the end of it, 1,009 Marines of the 2nd Division had been killed and another 2,101 wounded - roughly 25% of the men landed on the island.

687 more men were killed when the relatively small escort carrier USS Liscome Bay was torpedoed by a Japanese submarine off Makin. The torpedo detonated her magazine, and the resulting explosion blew her in half. The fireball rose a thousand feet in the air and debris fell on ships miles away.

Of the Japanese garrison of nearly 5,000, 146 survived, 129 of whom were Korean construction labourers. The rest fought to the death, or were simply denied the opportunity to surrender, the Americans having learned on Guadalcanal that Japanese would often feign surrender in order to lull their enemies and kill them with bayonet or grenade.

Life Magazine published photos of American dead floating in the surf of Tarawa, washed up on the beaches of Betio. The journalist Robert Sherrod, who had been on a Higgins boat and waded through the lagoon on the first morning wrote detailed dispatches for Time. The American public were shocked by the bloodbath on the atolls of Tarawa. One New York paper declared that the US should have used poison gas. Nimitz received letters from bereaved families. “You killed my son on Tarawa,” a mother wrote. Nimitz read each of them and answered them personally, considering it his responsibility. The burden of command.

The Japanese were told the defenders had been overwhelmed, but at such a cost to the Americans that it was to all intents a victory for the Japanese Empire, a lie habitually told after defeats. Midway had been a great victory in their press.

Lessons were learned. Coordination between US land, sea and air forces improved. Invasion troops carried less unessential equipment and more ammunition and explosives. They learned to rely on supply from the sea. Future invasions had more amtracs available, of improved design, with more armour and more firepower. Napalm was introduced and used in staggering amounts, dropped from plane and shot from tanks to incinerate bunker and cave and kill the defenders within.

Japanese strategy leaned on the assumption that the Americans would not have the stomach for the fight. That the American public would not support the casualties needed to defeat them. They were wrong. Before long, papers in the US were warning of the need for America to steel itself, for Tarawa was a foreshadowing of future battles, on larger islands closer to the Japanese homeland. That the tiny, blood-soaked atolls of Tarawa heralded unprecedented carnage and butchery.

In this, they were right.

#ww2 #world war 2 #war is fucking awful #however bad you've imagined war to be it is much much worse #tarawa #wwii

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wintercorrybriea2 · 1 year

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second layer ‘eisenhower’ jacket

#second layer #fashion

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jkeefer-collection · 1 year

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#leather jacket #menswear #mens fashion #leather #dark fashion #jkeefer #raf simons #number (n)ine #helmut lang #rick owens

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exoid-the-locomotive-monarch · 1 year

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Ansolutely confused at how now the damn 2000s and late 1990s are trending when I was actually born in that era? Like I understand now the internet is mostly blogged by teenagers and young adults. Early forums were full of late Gen X and early Millenials talking about High School and DOOM and computer science and Star Trek, and there was always a notalgia for their time, which in the mid teens to mid twenties in the early 90s was the 70s.

Of course in the 90s nostalgia was for 30 years ago when more mainstream and popular musicians in their late 20s and early 30s pined for the sounds of their childhood, the 1960s. Smash Mouth’s Walkin on the Sun, Austin Powers, the… Live Action Flinstones Movies I guess? And Movies about Vietnam or life after Vietnam like Forrest Gump and Full Metal Jacket (technically late 80s but you get what I mean)

Mainstream Anachronistic appeal is for 30 years ago, producers and musicians and designers and advertisers use their childhood experiences and background to use nostalgia and a unique and no longer popular aesthetic to appeal to an also rich with money, decently wealthy, nostalgic group of consumers who grew up in a similar era.

Not only that but that’s how nostalgia influences politics. Eisenhower got elected in the 50s for being a war veteran and talking about benefits for American infrastructure but also booming markets, appealing to the 1920s postwar boom after WWI

Kennedy appeals to the idea of equity and social justice and progress like FDR in the 30s along with LBJ.

Nixon uses the iconography of WWII to justify nam and the boomers following their parents to serve their country.

Reagan appeals to the “good old fashioned family” of the 1950s and his stardom in the movies during that era to get elected. Reagan uses a LOT of his old age and fashion to imitate a nuclear family husband and his wife Nancy as the housewife. Drug panics were more a 1930s thing but the fear of gangs and gang violence with drugs was a 50s thing, and evangelism from the 1950s came back in swing with the religious right!

Bill Clinton uses his hippie background to appeal to Liberals and pushes for free markets but equity amongst people like early Kennedy.

Bush and Obama surprisingly don’t appeal that much to the 1970s or 80s, giving the early 2010s and 2000s this unique aesthetic of politicians being a new template.

Then Donald Trump comes along as a synthesis of Reagan era nationalism and Jerry Falwell era hope and faith of the 80s with sprinkles of Rush Limbaugh era bigotry from the 90s, and now we have essentially Bill Clinton 2.

I lived through the 2010s and basically saw the 80s get revived in real time. The 2000s for me was a blur but I do remember a couple movies or music would imitate 70s pop and funk music. The Bee Gees got popular again, while emo rock got popular I think properties like Scooby Doo and other stuff from the 70s were getting franchise movies. Star Trek movies too!

Then the 2010s start and you get a trickle of nostalgia, mostly geek and gamer companies selling properties from the 80s like He-man, Transformers, Nintendo game references to Mario and Zelda and Metroid, google does a doodle for Pac man’s 30th anniversary, Wreck it Ralph is a movie about arcade games, Michael Bay makes dough with his Transformers movies.

Then we get Marvel and D but specifically superheroes from the Bronze age of the 1980s. Watchmen, the Dark Knight trilogy, and heck the Avengers are more based off the modern 80s designs than the silver age 60s ones. Nerd culture is in full swing, by the mid 2010s Adam Sandler made a movie where 80s video games invade earth, Thor Ragnarok is essentially a movie built on 80s aesthetics, Five Nights At Freddy’s is a game about Chuck E Cheese horror mascots like those of the 80s! Indie games base a lot of game design and aesthetic from games of the NES! Shovel Knight for gods sake!

IT got a remake and that’s about a clown that terrorizes Maine every 27 years coming out 27 years after the 1990 TV series.

Thundercats reboot, She-ra reboot, Ghostbusters gets a 2016 movie, Pac man got a cartoon on Disney XD for some reason, music begins using synth pop again, rap explodes on the scene!

And by the 2020s after a decade of nostalgia, there’s been an underground movement of 90s nostalgia, mainly indie games and music that imitate either 90s platformers or 3D aesthetic or the revive of the Boomer shooter thanks to New Blood studios and DOOM 2016, 90s cartoons nostalgia makes the return of the zany and unhinged animation that only lurked on Newgrounds for so long. That was during the early to mid 2010s when people in their teens and 20s were pining for the era of the 90s. Now the 90s are turning 30. Mainstream appeal is making it to producers new on the scene, consumers born during that era, and designers taking aesthetics from their surroundings.

The teens and young adults now in their teens to mid twenties are born between 2008 (15 years old) and 1998 (25 years old) meaning that… the new counterculture of young people nostalgic for their childhood were born in the late 90s to 2000s the era of PS2 video games and chrome and see through electronics and bubbly round design and shiny gradients is here. Though most people on this site were born during that era, the people in their later 20s were around to play those games and absorb their culture. Given 2 more years and we’ll be in the mid 2020s where the appeal of pop culture is the mid 90s, of the Playstation, the N64, the simpsons, and post-punk.

Then the nostalgia for the young rebels is the mid 2000s to early 2010s, after all nostalgia for the Nintendo DS while in it’s height right now when people my age remember fondly that hardware, it’s fading away, along with nostalgia for the Wii… to the Golden Age of Cartoon Network and the era of the late DS and the 3ds, admittedly PKMN Black and White and late 2000s cartoons got revivals back in 2020 due to memes, but that was a fad, this will be aesthetic and artistic.

Memes revive culture from 10 years ago, young adults and teens revive culture from 20 years ago, and culture from 30 years ago is the mainstream.

We currently live in the era where the 2000s are popular on Tumblr, give it 2 more years, and we will be in the era of mid to late 2000s culture while the 90s nostalgia is in full swing.

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